Chet Mattson

January 1975

That stern look greeted me as an intern at twenty, here in the cold of the control room of the Route 46 Bridge. But to remember Mattson is to hear the booming laugh, hands on hips or his howling paroxysms, arms across chest. Or a big, bad boy grin above that Lincolnesque beard. Chet Mattson, fearless leader, semicolon. A man who thought book-length and brought it forth in whole-formed paragraphs. An environmentalist who beat down the forces arrayed against him in words and passion. Policy formed under his pen in yellow pads decipherable only to Janet or Kathy. Later, spoken words with punctuation poured forth dictated as he sat looking out his window at part of his legacy, framing the southern expanse of the Saw Mill to the south.

Chet Mattson made things happen through force of will, by taunt, by subterfuge and stealth, by appearing to want something so that others would vote against it. Through stubborn will and obsession. His leadership was framed on Policy with a capital "P, but he always took what he could get. Ever the pragmatist, Chet Mattson pleaded, cajoled, got mad, got even, laughed at himself, got things done, and inspired us to action.

If you haven't been there lately, Chet, you would be surprised at the enduring power of your work, bureaucracy, and nature.